research. Of the self-consciously serious type.
Lovely.
“Guess that’s why Celia Shore was in town,” Maddox murmured, reading over her shoulder.
“Must be.”
“Your friend too, huh?” He sounded almost apologetic, as if he pitied her for finding out her friend was involved with “those” kind of people.
“Sandrine is interested in the paranormal,” she said noncommittally.
“So.” He looked at her, trapping his lower lip between his teeth for a brief moment. “You goin’ to the seminars tomorrow?”
She should. She’d find out a lot more about Sandrine and the Cassandra Society that way. But right now, the thought of it was more than she could bear. “I don’t know.”
“I could take you to the hospital to see Celia before she’s checked out of there tomorrow. If you want.”
“Only if you have a second helmet.” The ride from the Tropico to the Sand Dollar Café had been one of the scariest experiences of her life.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll drive the Jeep.”
Her cheek tingled where his fingers brushed her skin.
He dropped his hand and looked away, but not before she caught a hint of consternation on his face, as if he realized he’d overstepped some sort of line by touching her that way.
Good. That meant he knew there were lines in the first place. It made it easier to take him up on his offer of help.
She spent another fifteen minutes reading through the links without learning much more about the Cassandra Society. Sipping the last of her coffee, she turned to Maddox, who sat draped over the chair beside her, watching her with lazy blue eyes that made her breath catch.
She licked her lips. “Thanks for showing me this place. I should head back now. The party’s in a couple of hours.”
“Sure you don’t want a ride?” His cheeks dimpled with a slow smile.
“The walk will be good for me.”
“Okay.” He stood when she did. “I’ll walk you back.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“I’ll walk you back,” he repeated firmly. He put his hand between her shoulder blades, nodding toward the door. He stopped to say something to the guy at the cashier’s stand, handed him some cash and then led her outside.
“What about the Harley?”
“I paid that guy an extra ten to make sure it’s here when I get back. Let’s go.”
THE DAY WAS WANING, the sun already low on the western sky, gilding the Caribbean Sea as it stretched toward the horizon. The sun was warm on her cheeks, and the air was fragrant with the tang of the sea. For a moment, Iris could almost believe she was on a tropical vacation with nothing to worry about but where to go for dinner.
Almost.
“Hungry?” Maddox asked as they neared the main drag. “There’s a fish-and-chips stand just over there.”
She was hungry, she realized. She took him up on his offer, waiting while he dealt with the street vendor and returned with two cardboard boats full of fried fish and crispy French fries.
“Careful, it’s hot.” He handed her one of the boats.
She gingerly plucked off a piece of hot fish ad popped it in her mouth. The blend of spices on the breading and the delicate flavor of the fish made her hum with satisfaction.
“Good, huh?” He nudged her with his shoulder, motioning with a nod of his head for her to follow him. They set off down the main street toward the beach, mingling with the other tourists strolling the boulevard.
BY THE TIME THEY REACHED the beach road, Iris proclaimed herself stuffed and handed off the rest of her meal to Maddox. She’d eaten less than half, he noted with some consternation, but the meal and the exercise had seemed to do her some good. There was a little more color in her cheeks and she didn’t seem as weak as she’d been when he’d found her outside the Tropico.
“You must love living here in Mariposa.” Iris turned to look at him, her eyes alight. He felt a tug in the center of his chest, as if she’d pulled a string wrapped around his heart. “Do you ever get homesick?”
“I used to.” He tossed the remains of their dinner in one of the public trash bins lining the walkway. “I got over it.”
Iris laughed. Maddox found his gaze drawn by the low, throaty sound. Her eyes sparkled, lighting up her whole face from the inside. He found it hard to take a deep breath.
Why had he insisted on walking her home? Or hell, if he really wanted to ask a tough question, why had he followed her out of the café that morning in the first place?
A combination of curiosity and boredom could explain some of his interest. But not all of it.
“How’d you end up in Mariposa, anyway?” she asked.
“Took a right turn at St. Croix.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously. I was heading toward Trinidad for Carnival and took a detour on a whim. I liked it here and decided to stay.”
“How long ago?”
“A little over two years.”
She looked surprised. “I would have thought you’d been here longer. Everybody seems to know you, and you seem to know everything about this place.”
“I’m very adaptable. Who knows, I may decide next week to head on down to Trinidad after all.”
“A real rolling stone, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Never gathering any moss?”
“Nasty stuff, moss.” The words came out as a warning. One he hoped she’d heed.
Silence fell between them, not an entirely comfortable one, as they moved ever closer to the St. George’s pale pink facade.
He broke the silence. “What about you, sugar? What do you do up there in Alabama?”
“I own a plant nursery and I also do some botanical research on medicinal herbs.”
“Botanical research,” he echoed. Little Miss Jet-lagged Tourist had layers to her, didn’t she?
“I have a master’s degree in botany,” she explained. “Maybe one day I’ll finish my PhD. Too busy for it right now. What about you? What did you do before you took a right turn at St. Croix?”
